Fight
by ForeverImmature
Summary: OneShot. Freddie/Cook. Where's the line between a kiss and a fight?


**This is dedicated to the awesome Ellis (Fire Tears X) who wrote an AMAZING review for my last O/S and made me a lovely vid! My Frookie partner in crime! Sorry this took so long, mate! And it may need a little editing! This is seriously short. Sorry xx**

**Fight.**

When Freddie finally gets the nerve to slam Cook into the wall, Cook thinks he's going to sing the hallelujah chorus. They've been sitting, just sitting, in this thick monotonous silence for what feels like hours. The room dim and the tension heavy as they'd drummed their hands against their jean-clad legs and waited for the other to say something. Say _anything._

This has been a long time coming, this final push of hands against chest. The final action that means that something's different, something's happening. A transition from denial to reality.

Freddie hadn't known why he'd even invited Cook over. At 3 a.m, he'd paced his room wondering if his friend would even be home. Wouldn't he be out screwing some tart or lying passed out in someone's driveway? But when he'd called - phone pressed tight to his ear and teeth pressing into his tongue - Cook had answered, and Freddie cursed the way his heart raced at the sound of his semi-sober voice. Husky and thick with something inescapable.

"Freds?"

Freddie hadn't been able to answer for a moment, fists clenching and eyes closing. When he did, though, its only to tell Cook he's bored and he should get his ass down to the shed. When he hung up, he'd hung his head and wondered when their relationship had gotten so strange.

Cook had come by not ten minutes later, smile hesitant and bruises risen on his face. More fights. Freddie didn't comment, just opened the door a little wider to let him through. They'd sat on the collapsed sofa, feet apart as they passed a spliff back and forth. Their fingers touched with every exchange, and they both feel the warm shock of skin on skin. Its just hands, but its contact that never feels the same with anyone else.

When its stubbed out and they're drifting in a lethargic haze that is thick with electricity, they simply sit there. There's no conversation, no comfort, no discussion of where they go from here. Freddie is aching for something, he doesn't know what, but _something_. He wants this silence, this awkwardness, to end. Its been there for a while now, sitting between them like an anonymous third party. There's no physical barrier, but the emotional is enough.

Cook is quiet, eyes thoughtful and contemplating. This expression is a mask, trying to goad Freddie into action. He, too, hates the silence and wishes that things could happen again. Fucked up things, sure, but things all the same.

Freddie is aware that Cook is testing him, using that little smirk to try to break him. He's tired of fighting with the other boy. So tired of fighting he can barely think straight. Tired of the tongue drifting across his neck, hiding behind the pretence of being 'stoned'. He's tired of the longing looks, the playful touches that are dares and can be disguised as brotherly affection. The marks left on his body after another bruising encounter. He should be tired of _Cook, _but still finds himself calling him in the middle of the night when the world doesn't make sense.

Cook isn't tired, he just wants more. He wants Freddie to beg him, to be chasing him like one of the girls he fucks and dumps every week. It frustrates him that the boy won't fit into a category, won't conform to Cook's view of the people he screws around with. He hates that Freddie seems to matter more, _deserve_ more. He hates the fact that Freddie doesn't _fight_. Just watches him in stony silence as he kisses other people, when he should be screaming in jealousy.

So when Freddie finally shoves him into the wall, Cook thinks he's going to sing the hallelujah chorus. They've been sitting there for an immeasurable amount of time, and now - finally - things are in motion. Cook gets restless when things stay still.

Freddie locks his hands on Cook, clutching at as much of him as he can hold. Trying to claim him - keep him grounded and here with him - for as long as he can. He wants Cook to be his, wants to use him up until he's ruined for all other people. Like Cook does to everyone else - like Cook does to _him._

Freddie's whispering obscenities and his hands are rough as he pins Cook to the wall. Cook's eyes are bright and alight with interest, sparkling mockingly. Heat runs, pulses, through Freddie. Everything in Technicolor as he eyes his friend hungrily. Cook runs his hands up Freddie's back, nails scraping him through his shirt. Freddie lifts Cook's leg up off the floor, forcing it around his hip as he shoves his forehead into Cook's. He thinks if he keeps this rough it keeps him sane. Keeps him a man. Keeps him like _Cook…_

Until it occurs to him that he doesn't want to be like Cook at all.

Cook is beautiful in a way that hurts Freddie to look at. He lets his eyes wander gently past the bruises. Past the façade and the sarcastic hunger in the other boy's face. He sees Cook's longing, his coiled muscles and trembling hands. He can feel his leg tensed over his hip, holding him securely and melding him to his shape. He _wants _him, which is the hardest thing for Cook to admit.

That's when Freddie realises. He knows how he can beat Cook, how he can _win. _He gently unwraps Cook's leg from around his waist, leaning back a little so that their eyes have to meet. Cook is confused, and Freddie feels a little broken but stiffens his resolve. He can do this…

Slowly, so slowly time seems to stand still, Freddie runs a light hand over Cook's face. Its soft, so soft, and this confuses Cook. What the fuck is going on? Freddie moves closer, holding Cook's face like he's the most breakable and precious thing in the world. There's no anger, no pressure. Nothing to hide behind.

Cook is appalled. He shoves forward, flipping Freddie round so that he's the one backed into the wall. He shoves his mouth against Freddie's roughly, trying to force a reaction. He scratches at Freddie's back, harder now. Hard enough to leave marks despite the material. And Freddie just takes it, running soft hands through Cook's hair and moving his lips slowly. His eyes are closed.

Cook growls, biting hard into Freddie's mouth, drawing a little blood. Freddie swallows it and wraps his arms around Cook. Not hard, not constricting, but warmly like they're an old married couple. He runs beautiful patterns down Cook's back as Cook claws at his own. He leans his weight on Cook, and Cook can't take it.

In a last attempt to keep this a game, keep it sane, Cook throws a punch at Freddie's stomach. It winds him, and he crumples slightly, breathing out hard as he struggles back to his feet. He takes a deep breath, looks at Cook - who's eyes are wild and pleading - before ending the silence, the act, for good. He takes a step, arms outstretched, crossing the barrier and angling Cook's head up. Cook tries to jerk away but he holds his head in place. They eye each other, and then Freddie comes forward, kisses Cook's cheek softly. Wraps his arms around the shaking boy and forces his love on him. Forcing, _fighting, _in a way that is far more painful than a punch in the gut.

Cook cries, and they don't stop touching til morning.

**Fin.**

**Reviews are love!**


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